


waiting for the hammer to fall

by hellblazeit



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Existential Crisis, Oneshot, might add a follow-up chapter with crowley if i'm feelin sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-23 04:55:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20237086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellblazeit/pseuds/hellblazeit
Summary: Angelscansleep, if they choose to. It is frowned upon, however, to take the time that one can be using spreading the Almighty's light and wisdom or thwarting the adversary and spend it on something so trivial and short-lived as blacking out for a few hours.Evil Doesn't Sleep And Neither Should You!, as the motivational posters within Heaven's gates say.[1][1] Along withClimb Every Mountain, andHave You Checked Your Flaming Sword Maintenance Guidelines Lately?, andTo Err Is Human; To Forgive is Divine; To Smite One's Enemies is Satisfying And Highly Encouraged.-it's 2am and an angel is restless in soho.





	waiting for the hammer to fall

**Author's Note:**

> i've loved good omens for ten goddamn years and i'll be damned if i'm not gonna throw my ass back in that fire with a vengeance.

Aziraphale can't sleep, and it isn't because he doesn't want to. Which is unusual, and which he doesn't fancy one bit.

Angels _can_ sleep, if they choose to. It's all a matter of biological functions, after all, which are easily manipulated if you know the right levers to pull, so to speak. No need to nod off like humans do, just flip the switch and you're out like a light. Dreaming is another matter entirely, as it takes some level of imagination that not a lot of angels care to practice; Aziraphale, personally, enjoys it. It's just like watching a play, one that is perhaps nonsensical and roundabout and that redoes some of the same scenes over and over again, but in a way that makes it clear that that's the fun of it all.

It is frowned upon, however, to take the time that one can be using spreading the Almighty's light and wisdom or thwarting the adversary, and spend it on something so trivial and short-lived as blacking out for a few hours. **Evil Doesn't Sleep And Neither Should You!**, as the motivational posters within heaven's gates say.[1]

[1] Along with _Climb Every Mountain_, and _Have You Checked Your Flaming Sword Maintenance Guidelines Lately?_, and _To Err Is Human; To Forgive is Divine; To Smite One's Enemies is Satisfying And Highly Encouraged._

All this to say that Aziraphale has not properly slept, aside from short naps every couple of centuries that he will never admit to, in a very long time, and now that he's actively trying, it's rather frustrating to find that it's become nigh impossible.

He's even gone to all the popularized human methods of making oneself comfortable for a lie-down: silk pajamas that keep him not too warm but not too cold ( the matching nightcap hasn't been seen in common use since before central heating was invented ), a sleep mask to cover his eyes for some reason that he doesn't fully understand, calming classical music playing on the gramophone that he's brought up from the back room, a perfectly comfortable bed and duvet that weren't nearly as luxurious before he decided that he definitely wanted to sleep today. He's even counted sheep, after a rather long internal debate over whether or not he ought to find some real sheep to count, for authenticity, and he lost his place somewhere in the mid-ten thousands. And yet he's still awake, staring at the ceiling, mask pushed up, with all manner of thoughts buzzing in his head, and he keeps coming back to thinking of all the ways that humanity can change.

Change is inevitable. Personally, it's not for him, but it does happen for everyone whether they like it or not, and most especially for humans. Evolution, and things like that. Growth. What with the world supposedly coming to an end and all, the ability for humans to change would have also changed, since they wouldn't be able to change much at all after being wiped out by the ensuing battle between Heaven and Hell. And as much as he doesn't like change for himself, Aziraphale has become rather fond of watching the humans figure out new things, and it would have been a real shame for it all to stop.

But now that's over and sorted, which means they'll keep on evolving and growing. Even now, some of them are working on getting further out into space, which is just lovely and quite creative of them; others are writing new books, and making new arguments for other people's rights. Cars will get faster, roads will get safer. Foods will be combined in all sorts of new and delectable ways. The buildings will get taller, the music will get louder. He'll get to watch it all, the way he has been for years, and now that he's relatively unemployed, he'll get to immerse himself in the world with far less guilt. Maybe even none at all.

At least, until **The Big One** happens. The one Crowley had mentioned: Heaven and Hell against humanity. All the angels and all the demons, and possibly the Horsemen as well if there's enough in the budget to outsource again. And it will be just himself and Crowley standing between them in the world.

Aziraphale closes his eyes and wishes he were asleep. It doesn't work.

It isn't all that bad, really. They've already had a trial run, as it were. They'll have to be watchful, have to be wary. They'll have to _prepare_. Warning humanity is most likely out of the question, as it really is a dreadfully large amount of people to warn, and even discounting all the people who will simply scoff and laugh at them, there will no doubt be panic on a massive scale, which will only divide them all and make it easier for Heaven and Hell to break through.

Not warning the humans means there won't be any chance of military assistance, who wouldn't be of much use in any case, except to raise morale, unless they were armed with heavenly weapons, which Aziraphale is a bit short on at the moment. Crowley might have holy water left over from his thermos, but there's precious little chance it will be enough to dispel the many, _many_ legions of Hell. On the opposite side of the scale, hellfire is utterly out of the question; even if Aziraphale were willing to let Crowley go sauntering off downstairs to gather some up, it's far too dangerous to have around. Volatile. Unpredictable. He doubts the humans could handle it safely.

He takes several deep breaths and starts to count sheep again. The sheep pass by in a number of about a hundred, all bleating together in a terrifying cacophony, and their numbers grow the more desperately he tries to count them all. Some of them are carrying flaming swords. All of them are angry.

No, warning humanity is out of the question. Adam could turn the tide, if they were desperate, but dragging the poor boy back into the middle of a war is simply unfair; on top of that, he might have chosen right one time, but there's no guarantee that he'd do it again, a couple years down the line, as much as Aziraphale would like to believe he would. Anything could happen. It's a chance that can't be risked. No antichrist to come in and save the day where they fail.

If — WHEN — the real war comes, they'll be completely on their own, him and Crowley. Against Everybody. And there will be even less of a chance than they had before.

Aziraphale sits up abruptly, his hands clenched tightly in the sheets. His heart — that he sometimes forgets ought to beat, until it decides for itself — is hammering against the inside of his ribs in a way that makes it difficult to breathe. He doesn't want to look at another sheep for the rest of his life.

_Alright,_ he decides, _perhaps sleep is overrated._

He breathes in, unnecessarily, and out again, and rubs his face briskly with his hands. Alright, do something, then. Forget about all this mess. Fix a cup of tea, and maybe something stronger to go with it. Find an old favorite on the shelves. Change the music to a more upbeat tune, something catchy that will get stuck in his head and loop round and round for hours, making all other thought impossible. Call Crowley.

No, no don't call Crowley. Crowley actually _does_ sleep, frequently. Besides, this is far too silly a matter to wake Crowley over, even if he knows they'll always pick up with a sleepy "it's fine, angel" and listen no matter how long he goes on for. Even though they're the only other person he can talk to candidly about this.

He can manage on his own. It's just one night, after all, just a few uncomfortable thoughts. He's had them before. What is that English expression? _Keep a stiff upper lip._ He's always been good at that.

Aziraphale lets out another, sharper breath, nods decisively, and goes downstairs.

Three hours later, a phone in a flat in Mayfair rings, and a demon slithers awake. Aziraphale does not, after all, sleep that night.

**Author's Note:**

> we get so little insight into aziraphale's thoughts in the book except for the part when he's contacting the metatron, i keep thinking...crowley is an anxious mess, but aziraphale Cannot have it all together himself. sometimes you get by with a little help from your friends.
> 
> i've got a [ko-fi](Ko-fi.com/hellblazeit) now!


End file.
